


The Second Kiss

by alisvolatpropiis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Almost death, Brief Mention of injuries, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Canon, but everyone's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 06:49:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: He had imagined it countless times, but he had never thought their first kiss would be their last breath.





	The Second Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies! It's been a hot minute! Here's some Stereky sweetness for y'all. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Loosely inspired by [this post about the excitement of the second kiss](https://bottseveryflavorbeans.tumblr.com/post/144176515476/you-know-what-im-a-big-fan-of)!

The first kiss was fire. Literally. 

They were trapped behind fallen, smoldering roof beams as flames devoured the old church that had, until just moments before, been the site of an apocalypse ritual performed by a particularly doomy doomsday cult. Together Stiles and Derek had stopped the witches from raising some hellspawn, but not before suffering critical injuries themselves, and not before the bad guys set the church alight as they escaped.

The witches had spelled Derek to halt his healing abilities, and Stiles, fragile human that he was, was easily crippled by their superior numbers and shockingly effective combat skills. They may have thwarted the cult’s apocalypse plans, but it felt like a hollow victory as the church burst into flames around them while they lay helpless in the apse, battered, bloody, and broken.

Stiles had never known fear like that: collapsed on the hot stone floor, Derek’s broken and bloody body strewn across his lap, cradling his face in his hands as the fire raged, consuming everything and coming fast, insatiable. Lightheaded from his own wounds, his right ankle was hanging at a terrible angle and throbbing angrily, and skin was starting to feel tight and too-thin from the unbearable heat licking ever closer. 

Stiles knew his death was just moments away, but the fear that gripped his heart was not for his own demise, and not even for Derek’s. 

No, the fear that clung to Stiles’ soon-to-be-released soul cut far deeper than mere death or pain.

It was, instead, the aching fear of dying without ever having told Derek how he lived for every moment their eyes met, every brush of their hands, every time they spoke. About the rush of exhilaration and affection that blossomed so strongly in his chest at just the thought of him, of what they could be, if only. 

The fear of dying without ever having let him know just how much he loved him. Without ever having kissed his soulmate.

Maybe it was the blood loss, but when Stiles looked into Derek’s eyes, he thought he saw, amongst the dancing flames reflected in that intoxicating green-gold, a glimmer of the same fear, the same need, the same love. 

And so, with just seconds to live, with falling embers blistering all around them like the bleakest of shooting stars, with smoke singeing their lungs with every desperate breath, Stiles did what he wanted to do since the first moment they met in the Preserve all those years ago. 

He had imagined it countless times, but he had never thought their first kiss would be their last breath. 

But it was worth it to feel the sweet press of his lips, cracked and bloody as they were. Worth it to feel the tenderness with which Derek welcomed the kiss and kissed back, even in his magically-induced weakness. 

_ Worth it all _ , Stiles thought, as the heat rose between them and the flames licked their skin until the world went black.

**~*~**

The day after the world didn’t end but he thought his had, Stiles awoke in the hospital in a druggy fog, haloed by the worried faces of everyone he loved – except for the one he loved the most. 

There had been a lot of commotion, a cacophony of explaining and worrying over him, and it took a while, but he finally got the details figured out. Right after he and Derek had passed out in the church, Alison, Erica, and Boyd arrived to save the day and pulled them to safety.

Moments after their first kiss. 

Stiles had a lacerated spleen and a cast from knee to ankle on his right leg; his ribcage was throbbing from fractures and his lungs were still tender; his skin, laced head-to-toe with stitches, still felt dangerously crispy, and the morphine drip didn’t really cut it. 

And yet, the only thing he felt when he thought about their kiss is the hot press of Derek’s lips on his, somehow still soft and achingly tender; the brush of his thick scruff against his singeing skin; the way his big, bloodied hands gripped Stiles as if he were worth holding onto. 

Lydia explained to him that, thanks to her fledgling witchery skills, she was able to undo Derek’s anti-healing spell soon after their rescue, when Stiles was in surgery. Once fully healed – and only upon learning that Stiles was going to be okay, Lydia was sure to emphasize – Derek took off from the hospital and no one had seen or heard from him since. Cora, Boyd, and Erica disappeared at the same time though, she said, and while not providing too many details, had been in contact to let her know that they were okay. 

And so Stiles suffered the indignity of having to move back into his dad’s house while he recovered while  _ also _ suffering the endless agony of embarrassment that Derek not only  _ finally knew how he felt _ , but that he  _ ran away _ because of it. Of course Derek ran away after Stiles kissed him. He was probably horrified and offended and only kissed back because he was at death’s door and probably hallucinating. And now, he was likely planning to avoid Stiles for the rest of his werelife. 

That’d be for the best, honestly. Save them both the awkwardness of trying to recover from Stiles’ mistake. He really should have learned by now that no good ever comes from sharing his feelings. 

Emotionally bottled up and ready to die alone – that’s what he needs to be. 

A week after the kiss-that-shall-no-longer-be-mentioned-and-definitely-no-longer-be-thought-about-obsessively, Stiles is stretched out on his dad’s couch with his ankle elevated on the coffee table, watching Netflix and brooding hard.

An abrupt, loud knock on the front door yanks him from his deep-dive into self-pity. His dad is working the night shift, and he’s been expecting Lydia, who texted earlier to say she was bringing him dinner. But Lydia doesn’t knock. 

“Come in,” he calls out, willing to risk inviting in a vampire – or a Mormon – so he doesn’t have to get up and struggle with the crutches. 

For such an imposing man, Derek has an uncannily light tread. Stiles doesn’t realize it’s him until he rounds the corner into the living room, looking remarkably alive and unscathed for someone who nearly died in his arms a week ago. He’s wearing a dark green v-neck that makes his eyes look even more impossibly emerald than usual, and the light scruff that Stiles swears he can still feel on his chin is now a full-on beard. 

He’s more beautiful than any creature has the right to be. The kind of beautiful that makes you believe in God. 

And he has curly fries. 

Stiles is stunned into silence, jaw agape oh-so-unattractively, staring and salivating at the grease-soaked paper takeout bag and the werewolf holding it.

After way too many silent seconds of him staring at Stiles right back with an utterly impenetrable expression on his perfect face, Derek finally speaks. “I brought you dinner.” He holds out the bag, along with a couple of sodas.

“Dinner?” Stiles manages to croak out. Of all the ways he imagined things might go when and if they saw each other again, Derek looking sheepish while presenting a bag of takeout from his favorite burger place never even came close to crossing his mind. “Yeah, dinner is great,” he adds awkwardly.

Derek nods sharply and comes to sit next to him on the couch, taking care not to get too close to him, Stiles notices with a sharp twist in his chest. He does his best to ignore it and instead focuses on the food cartons that Derek lays out on the coffee table next to the piles of pillows supporting his heavily-casted ankle. 

“Oh my god, is that a bacon cheeseburger with a fried egg?” He’d know that particularly delicious grease’n’fat smell anywhere, and his stomach rumbles with an echoing harmony that Derek definitely hears, judging by the all-too-cute smirk on his face.

“Your favorite,” Derek answers. “No tomatoes, extra special sauce.” It’s not a question. As he speaks, he picks up the carton and pulls the lid back, presenting the burger to him like it’s a damn engagement ring.

Stiles blinks several times, very quickly, and wonders if his pain meds are making him hallucinate. He accepts gratefully and unceremoniously shoves the burger into his mouth to keep from saying something stupid like “Don’t mind if  _ I do _ .”

Instead, he just groans with pleasure around another bite, then another, then a mouthful of fries and a huge slurp of Coke. Derek got a burger for himself too, but, ironically, doesn’t eat his like an animal.

They watch  _ She-Ra _ in surprisingly comfortable silence while finishing their food. This is something that has always struck Stiles about Derek, and one of the things that made Stiles realize – thanks to Allison pointing it out to him sometime in college – that he was head-over-heels in love with him. With Derek, Stiles doesn’t get overcome with that anxious energy that makes him feel like he has to talk just to fill noise like he does with so many others, especially people he’s attracted to. 

Of course, he still rambles and pontificates endlessly to Derek, because that’s just him. But Derek has always had a knack for making Stiles’ loquaciousness seem endearing and appreciated, even if it’s just with a nod or thoughtful, laughing smirk. Or any one of the countless choreographies of his remarkably expressive eyebrows. 

Or, Stiles can, like right now, simply  _ be _ with him and not feel uncomfortable or pressured or awkward. 

Well, at least, until The Kiss, that is. Not knowing what Derek thought about Stiles using the moment of their almost-death to make a move, or why he’s been gone since, has him a hell of a lot more nervous around Derek than he has been, ever.

But the food and just sitting together for a bit helps calm him a bit. Enough that he can attempt a normal conversation. 

“Thank you for this, dude, seriously,” he says, dropping the empty takeout carton on the coffee table with a satisfied grunt. “My dad’s cooking has gotten better over the years but it’s still not great.”

Derek smiles, and Stiles’ chest throbs with the beautiful sweetness of it. “Lydia was going to bring you some vegan kale thing.” He shrugs. “I figured you’d appreciate this more.”

Stiles practically loses his stomach just  _ thinking _ about that. “Ugh,” he grunts between gulps of soda. “I would have preferred the witches finished the job to that, I think.”

Derek smiles, but there’s the slightest hesitation to it, the barest hint of worry in his eyes and the stiffening of his posture. The nerves start to swirl in Stiles’ chest again, and he silently berates himself for bringing that night up. 

Clearly, Derek wants to forget it ever happened. But still, cautiously, he looks over Stiles’ injured foot and asks him how he’s feeling.

Stiles shifts with a wince as the pain, only partially dulled by prescriptions, bites back in protest. “Pretty jealous of your healing abilities, once again.” He shrugs and looks Derek over furtively. “Looks like you’re good as new?”

Derek nods. “Once Lydia undid the spell, I healed right away. You were in surgery by then.”

_ And you bailed before I woke up so you didn’t have to face me _ , Stiles thinks but has the good sense not to say.

But continues as if he had spoken. “Once we were sure you were okay, I took the pack and went after the cult. We tracked them down to Baja and took them out.” Now Derek shrugs, almost as if he’s nervous too. “That’s where I’ve been all this time.”

A sense of relief washes over Stiles, and not just at knowing that the witches who nearly killed them wouldn’t be coming back, but because that’s why Derek disappeared.

“I’m glad you got them,” Stiles tells him. “And that you’re okay. And that you’re back.” 

“It was weird, taking out the witches,” Derek continues. “They nearly killed us, but weirdly, I wanted to thank them.”

“Thank them? For which part? The blood and broken bones, or almost being barbecued?”

Derek shakes his head and laughs, a sight and sound that fills Stiles with a bone-deep joy. “For our first kiss,” he says softly - so, so softly.

“Oh,” Stiles says, just as softly, stunned as the realization washes over him.  _ Oh _ . “You mean...you  _ wanted _ to kiss me? You don’t regret it?”

There’s that smile again. “Stiles, the only thing I regret is that I waited until we thought we were dying. I’ve thought about our first kiss for years, and I can’t believe it finally happened when I thought I was losing you.”

Stunned yet again, it takes Stiles a bit to believe that he’s heard him correctly. But it’s the glow of warmth that fills him from deep within, ignited by the look of unabashed sweetness and hope in Derek’s eyes, that truly convinces him of it, of  _ this,  _ of  _ them _ . 

“Our  _ first _ kiss,” Stiles repeats, the glow rising, smile widening. “So does that mean there’s gonna be a second kiss?”

~*~

If the first kiss was literal fire, the second is aflame with metaphor. 

The ember that lit inside of him when he realized Derek felt the same way is fanned with each tender press of their lips, each tentative-but-spark-laden touch of their tongues. Tendrils of fiery desire curl through Stiles’ body, flames of lust from within more powerful than he’s ever felt before. This is the kind of fire that nourishes, not destroys. The kind that keeps you warm, not burns you up.

The pull away for a moment to stare with equal wonder into each other’s eyes, the wordless echo of  _ finally _ echoing between them, drawing their mouths back together.

There’s a third kiss, and then a fourth and fifth, and a sixth and seventh too. Stiles loses track after that because there are so many. 

Some are quick and so many more are long and slow; and then again more are deep and powerful; some are angry and near-death like the first; countless are wild with lust, and others gentle with grief. 

Every kind of kiss there could be, for the rest of their days, each and every one alight with the fire of their love.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [Tumblr!](https://doctortay.tumblr.com/)


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